


Queen of Gotham

by Lyrar



Category: Gotham (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Child, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Abuse, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrar/pseuds/Lyrar
Summary: (Archive of "Queen of Gotham" by Ryla)Once upon a time, there was a pretty young queen. She wasn't a kind queen, though. She'd use each of her subjects for her purposes and they'd always come out different. Among these subjects was a Prince, a boy named Edward, and a Scarecrow. There were many more, too many to count. The Prince became a King, the boy grew up to become the Riddler, and the Scarecrow terrorized the Kingdom. A Clown sat loyally by her side as insurance from a vigilant knight of Gotham's law enforcement. You'd think the evil Queen's reign of terror would end, but this fairy tale is different.
Relationships: Ecco/Jeremiah Valeska, Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s), Eurus Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Jeremiah Valeska/Original Female Character(s), Jerome Valeska/Original Female Character(s), Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Jonathan Crane/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

Grace Moriarty sat with her twin on the train. His eyes twitched nervously around the car before the girl nudged him. As usual, she reminded him how they'd be separated if he told anyone and that he'd be left all alone. Being separated would be a gift for him, but the fear she mongered of never being adopted terrified him to the core. He couldn't help but revisit the previous reminders that that was the best worst-case scenario and how many orphanages abused the children they housed. Jim turned his head to the ground as she kissed his cheek and began to snuggle him.

"It's alright, my Prince. Your queen has you, and I'm all you need," she reassured.

With a shutter, he whispered, "I know."

"That's good, Jim. Now, when we get there, we will not have what we used to. Still, we will not be reduced to begging. Unfortunately, both of us will need to work to 'make ends meet', as normal people say, and you're not very crime-suited yet."

"You're not honestly suggesting-"

"Prostitution? Yes. Like I said, it is unfortunate. All the same, I'm sure you'd rather humiliate yourself than starve on the streets."

Tears began forming in Jim's eyes. This new Grace was awful. It was all fine to him until they turned their back and she grew up. Now, she was obsessed with control and misery. Actually, she had been her entire life. Jim had known ever since she "accidentally" strangled his cat when they were six. Thee poor boy was so brainwashed into codependency, he didn't have the option to run.

They remained silent for the next five hours until they reached Gotham city. They'd be invisible there. Just another pair of homeless teens making a living, no matter how evil. Her looks weren't ignored either. Once they reached their stop, her sweet, angel-like face kept anyone from inuring about their parents. They were long gone, but she didn't care. She'd done it. After years of having that pervert in both of their pants nearly from birth, she had had enough of their family. Even their mother, whom was just as victimized as the pair. Jim nearly alerted the police, but she beat that ambition out of him in a second. Afterwards, she made him drop the match to finish the job.

Now came the worst part of her scheme. Finding a place and keeping it. Luckily, she'd stolen her mother's make-up and jewelry. At least, as much as you can "steal" from the dead. Their next stop would be a clothing shop with hardly any security. She was able to effortlessly obtain a trashy dress to wear in order to age herself. As much as people sympathize with children, hardly any actually welcome them. Now wearing a new face and dress, she continued to stop people on the sidewalks. One "Excuse me?" here another "spare a moment?" there with no luck. That was, until she saw a likely candidate.

_Desperate, lonely, intelligent, relatively well-off, low self-confidence, and inconspicuous..._

She purposefully collided with Edward Nygma and began fussing about the paperwork scattered across the sidewalk.

_GCPD? Oh well. I'll make it work._

Ah she handed off the papers, Edward said, "Thank you, miss..."

"Moriarty. Grace Moriarty," she replied with a thick accent.

"You're not American," he observed curiously.

"Irish, actually. You work with the police?"

"More like 'for'," he joked, "Yes, I work in forensics."

"How interesting," she falsified, "And, do you deal with many murders? It's so curious how the most civilized species on Earth can so often attack its own. Not to mention kill."

"It is. Quick! What can be 100 years old and still be new?"

"An immigrant! So simple."

"Oh, I apologize. It's just- You don't look like..." he trailed off awkwardly.

She grinned at this, "No worries. I understand. So, this place is pretty dangerous, huh?"

The two continued conversing for ages before he finally agreed to bring them home. Jim looked like a starved puppy walking into the apartment. Grace was like a racoon, immediately opening the fridge to eat as she pleased. Edward was too naive to stop her. In his thinking, it was a girl just off the streets probably eating her first meal in days. She had actually spent most of the money taken from their previous home on the train. She was plenty well fed, just testing.

Jim pulled her aside, "You're not going to kill him, are you?"

With a guffaw, she responded, "Oh, Jimmy, please! He'll wish I had."

Jim's face crossed with terror as he realized just what that meant. Soon, he'd be able to sympathize, but would be able to no nothing. He'd be a bystander to her legal murder.

Now, Grace spoke to Nygma in a rather seductive pose on the couch. Her head rested on her hand whilst her elbow sat on the back cushioning. It didn't need to be deduced that he noticed. The blushing on his cheeks and quirky smile was rather telling Soon, she was unbearably bored. Their lips met mid-sentence. To Edward, the length of the kiss was like savoring a fine dish. To her, it was waiting for the poison to take effect. He lingered in her chestnut eyes. He was, by no doubt, caught in her web.

The next morning, Edward got to see her bare face. Her age was obvious. Now, he had knots reproducing in his stomach. Despite his lack of fault in the situation, he truly felt obligated to excuse himself of the crime.

"I am so sorry! I had no idea, you looked so adult in your makeup, and I should have as-"

She silenced him with her finger, "Hush now, Edward. There us something I should probably tell you. Take a seat," and so he did.

She made up some story about how she'd never had a partner because she could never relate to teenagers. How everyone seemed to want sex, sex, sex, and more sex. Truth be told, this was bullshit. Just another strum on the heartstrings.

As her crocodile tears cleared, Edward was fully sympathetic. He made cult-like promises to stay by her side until the end of time. To fulfill her every wish and treat her as his queen.

His queen of Gotham...


	2. Betrayal and Revival

During my time in Gotham, I finally picked up a career. Fish Mooney, as brutal as she was, had her own rules, a code of honor, if you will. Me, I do not. This is why when a man stumbles from her office, her voice thrilling after, I am the hero. Once he sits down for a compensation drink, I move in on him.  
As my hands travel down his shoulders, I whisper, “Let me get that for you, love,” before sliding my money onto the bar.

  
Usually, the response would be, “What are you, a whore?”

  
I would just giggle, “I am the last resort you'll ever need. Miss Moriarty, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr…”

  
We'll just call the client “Mr.So-and-so”. The typical So-and-so would want something gritty, but nothing that other, admittedly more experienced ones would take on, ransom videos of the victims’ children, killing the Mrs.’ cat, getting rid of a baby mama or just the baby, and other miscellaneous misdeeds. Every so often, I'd get something fun.

  
While Fish loathed the mothers she deems cowardly for wanting to kill their own, I commend them. It is the ultimate rebellion of nature, to dismiss the “motherly instinct” that dooms us ladies. One such woman came in with stringy black hair, but clothes that only needed a wash or two to be absolutely flawless. Obviously, this one had issues of the mind and not the wallet, good news for me. She sat shakily beside me, eyes twitching nervously.

  
“May I help you?” I demanded impatiently.

  
She seemed to need the courage to even speak, before growling, “I can't bloody take it anymore.”

  
My red lips pulled into a smirk, “Oh? A fellow foreigner! Well, who is it? Boyfriend, husband, girl-”

  
“CHILDREN!” she shrieked, slamming her glass, “I need to get rid of them, Miss Moriarty. Help me do it, I would do it myself if I could stand the damned screaming!”

  
“Well, I will need a name and address before anything, my dear,” I informed her.

  
“Adler! Olivia Adler. I have two girls, Irene and Jamie. Here's the rest,” she plopped down some papers and walked off.

  
At first, I was utterly infuriated that she would leave without even discussing payment. Then, I moved some paper to find a fat stack and then some. The green papers moved like butterfly wings under my fingers as I marveled over the cash.

  
“Two children,” I thought, “Better bring Jim to wrangle the brats.”

  
And herein lies my great mistake. Everything was as planned. The widow Adler was out of the house and it was left entirely unprotected. Jamie was beneath my knees, writhing under a pillow. She was the youngest at eight years old, so she wasn't difficult to smother. The sister, unattended, awoke and squealed at the sight beside her. She began pulling on me to try and save her sister. I kicked out at the twelve-year-old, causing her to fall. I only noticed Jim as a blur in the corner of my eye. He was always the merciful one. I had assumed Jim took the humane route, killing her off quickly somehow, explaining the sudden silence. Oh, dear was I wrong. I lept off of the lifeless child to go see my brother's work only to see nothing at all.

  
“Where is she?” I demanded.

  
“The mother won't have to put up with her anymore, will she?” Jim shot back at me.

  
Provoked, I began stalking closer and closer to his unmoving form. Not once did he step away. Even when we were literally touching noses, I saw nothing. Even his dark gaze was utterly dead. Stepping back, I popped a smile and ran off to throw the other sister over my shoulder. I took the time to take some food and a bottle of wine before I left. Mistake number II, taking my time.

  
As soon as I left, there were cars everywhere, flashing their red and blue lights. Gordon, one whom I had known of but not yet formally met, held a megaphone to his mouth.

  
“Grace Moriarty, if you step down now…” amusingly, he had to conceive an incentive of some kind, “It'll be for the best. For everyone.”

  
“Who says I want the best for everyone?” I thought.

  
Rather than acting on this thought, I put my gloved hands in the air. I turned a glare back at Jim, who had a wide smirk on his face.

  
“It's over, Grace,” he told me smugly, “I knew your habits enough to put you right here. Don't hold your breath to see me after it's over, I'm leaving. Period.”  
My lip curled as I snarled, “You better be in Hell,” two officers were about to cuff me when I lashed out, “At least you’ll be ready for the shit I’m going to put you through when I’m out!”

  
I forced a fistful of hair from his scalp, causing him to bleed. My claws dug into the face of the officer prying me off of my brother. Then, vibrations like no other spread through my body from two tiny metal hooks. They assumed it would be safe to pick me up after I stopped a twitched for a bit. It was not. Though I didn’t do anything productive, my rage burned. So, like any other creature on fire, I writhed around to get it out. My head cracked against the hard ground when the team dropped me intentionally, knocking me out cold.

  
When I awoke, I was inside a cell. It wasn’t the holding cell, as I had expected, no, no, no, this was the solitary cell. They were smart. They had some sense, unlike me, who was banging against the cement walls in fury. I roared at no one, then turned my eyes to the security camera. My tongue poked out playfully before I pushed closer. Still, I couldn’t even soften my eyes for a second. The betrayal, it was spearing me right where it hurts! The only thing that pulled my attention from this attack on my ego was the laughter echoing from somewhere down the hall.

  
Instead of seeing the source, though, I noticed a petty figure coming towards my cage. Edward looked so sweetly heartbroken. My delicate hand touched the window of the door. Wordlessly, he stood with a stack of photos in his hand. Then, he slid a few underneath. I bent down to pick them up. A burning house featured on one and the bodies produced were arranged by height in the next.

  
“Are these real?” he asked with shaking lips.

  
I smirked, telling him, “Real as you and I,” sliding my fingertips over the graphic images.

  
He couldn’t even look at me. It appeared as though he had lost touch with reality as he suddenly noticed the photos were on his side again. His fingers nearly tore the pictures, but were careful not to damage the evidence too much. He shook his head, disappointed. It’s not as though I could blame him. Even I knew that I had deceived and taken advantage of him.

  
“I knew it was too easy,” he said, somewhere between a whimper and a growl, “A girl like you, who wasn’t completely repulsed and didn’t just give me pity. I ignored him, but now I see I was wrong.”

  
“Oh, don’t I get one more riddle?” I begged with batting eyelashes, darkened with smeared makeup.

  
“You don’t deserve it,” Edward told me before turning and walking away.

  
I laid and waited for my fate, which was fairly obvious. I laughed at the various victims giving their testimonies, baring in mind that a mugshot is a criminal's photoshoot. Gotham is Hollywood, and Arkham's the bloody Walk of Fame. That is why, it wasn't a heartbreak when the long, boring ordeal ended with a lifetime sentence to the asylum. It was especially exciting once I heard that maniacal laughter enter the facility. Once I saw the ginger, I knew I had found my partner in crime.


	3. Greetings, Jerome (;

“And that brings us to, well, us,” I giggle to the ginger known as Jerome across the empty table.

  
“Us?” he asks curiously intrigued.

  
“Yes, us,” I confirm matter-of-factly, “You see, ever since I’d heard your heavenly cackling, I've just needed to get close.”

  
Jerome grins wickedly, “Then why didn't you do it sooner, sweet cheeks?”

  
“Seemed interested in the blonde,” I responded with a pop of my full, chapped lips. “It would hardly be fair for the lass if I'm the competition. Pretty and crazy’s a nice combination, but then toss fucking genius into it. Sugar, spice, and everything nice,” I drawled out.  
“‘Fucking’,” Jerome repeated, “not a word I'd expect from your mouth.”

  
He got up and waltzed over beside me, pulling a chair as close as possible. I smirked as he sat with the back of his chair between his legs. My head cocked while I waited for him to make another move. I rolled my eyes and shook my head before standing up to walk slyly behind him.

  
“Nor did I,” I remarked, “until now.”

  
And, with that, I shoved back harshly on the back of his chair. Jerome shouted the word in question quite loudly as he tumbled. My foot pressed town on the chair, pressing the chair into his chest. He let out heavy breaths as it stabbed harder and harder. For a brief moment, I considered just breaking through. The image of blood on those already red lips was quite an image indeed. Still, I allowed him relief temporarily until I straddled his chest.

  
“Am I going to get what I want now?”

  
Oh, yeah, Jerome, is she?” Greenwood commented.

  
“Now, now, you two,” Galavan laughed, “I understand you two are young and finally free to be yourselves. Still, if you could please keep any sexual activities in your sleeping quarters, it would be most preferable.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, leaping up with a joking salute.

He laughed at my endearing behavior. He had us all sit down around the table, and I sat with my chair as close to Jerome's as possible. Yes, all it took was me taking a break and doing nothing for a miracle to strike: This man had sent his sister to retrieve us using the most amusing method. If that “Zordon” character hadn't emitted that tranquilizing gas, I very well might have fainted from laughter alone! But, then we were recruited for this organization, except the murdered one. My hand wandered down to Jerome's in his lap. We all looked patiently to our host as he sat at the end.

  
“I would like to welcome you all here today. It’s good to see your faces, so full of potential.”

  
“Yeah, what's the plan here? To make Gotham tremble.”

  
My brown eyes rolled at Barbara’s lack of patience. Galavan seemed to stop just to annoy her further. I chuckled at this. Jerome slammed his elbow on the table and began tapping.

  
“The plan contains multiple steps. First, you need to make a name for yourself. You can’t do that if you don’t have a name to make.”

  
“What the Hell does that mean?” Greenwood asked obnoxiously.

  
“It means we need a brand,” I responded, “We need to come up for a big name for the team, as a team,” I smiled.

  
“Precisely, Grace,” Galavan tells me with a smirk of approval, “So, what will it be?”

  
My fingers played with the collar of my striped Arkham dress. The others had their own motions to show they were thinking. Well, anyone could see Greenwood didn't care. Jerome, however, played with a stray strand of his red hair. Barbara rested her head on her knuckles while her elbows rested on the long table. The erratic movement of her eyebrows and eyes made her appear as though a conversation was taking place in her head.

  
“What about the Maniacs?” Jerome suggested.

  
“With an ‘x’,” I added, “at the end. Just to be cool.”

Another smile crossed my face, “For us kids.”

  
“For the kids,” Galavan added with a correcting tone. “You, I believe, have the exterior of a child, but very much the mind of a woman. You're exterior will only help in your journey to be a great woman. You all have similar characteristics that will come to serve you, Maniax.”

  
“Frankly, Mr. Galavan,” I leaned back and stretched my legs onto the table, “I like to consider myself a child at heart. I am really liking the rest, though, thank you very much. My eyes turned to the rest of the smiling and twitching crowd, “Everyone else?”

  
“Oh, yes!” Jerome answered. “Thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart.”

  
It only took until Barbara spoke for the gratitude to end, “You really expect us to thank you for being nice to us?”

  
“I intend for us to be respectful to each other here, meaning we give what we get. For example; Grace, compliment me.”

  
I looked him up and down. There was an awkward silence as I went on deducing. His collar on his blazer was pressed down strangely. I could vaguely see a lighter, bleached mark tucked carefully underneath the jacket, on his shirt.

  
“That suit is very well tailored, Mr. Galavan,” I began. “Though, there was no need to go against the natural creases to cover that little spot on your button-up. No one would have even noticed.”

  
His strong posture faltered when I said this and he stammered, “Well…” he straightened his collar and continued, “thank you, for the insight. I do try to be presentable.”

  
He stared at me for a long while, still trying to process what I had just done. I raised my groomed eyebrows and twirled a strand of brown hair. His hand pressed on my calf, telling me to put my legs down. The others were, surprise surprise, getting jealous.

  
“There ain’t a stain there!” challenged Greenwood.

  
“Actually, Greenwood, there was. The woman is always right,” Theo corrected.

  
“The woman’s always right!”

  
“Even when she says ‘no’, Mr. Dobkins?” I questioned, catching the schizophrenic off-guard. “No worries here, love! Most likely, I’ve done worse. Let’s keep the compliment circle going, break the ice!”

  
“Actually, Grace,” Galavan interjected, “I already have a plan to help you people get to know each other a little better. You do need to be noticed to achieve half of what I have planned for you.”

  
Everybody at the table smiled at this. They were anticipating what would happen next. Galavan’s sister, Tabitha, brought seven men into the room. With this, the room felt rather festive! I hopped up to sniff at the new people in the room, like an excited puppy. I stopped at one of the trembling, jacketed men. He appeared to become even more anxious when he sensed my presence.

  
“Boop!” I squeak, tapping the end of his nose. “What are we going to do with them, Mr. Galavan?”

  
“Well, that,” he grinned, “is up to you. Have fun, everyone.”

  
The uncreative ones were confused as to what to do from here. They clenched their fists, only thinking of what was obvious; Strangling, bludgeoning, etcetera. I knew of another option.

  
“When I was a child, single digits and under the teen years, I would toss stones at the birds in the trees. Not just to hit them, but to see them fall to the grass and writhe.”

  
It took a moment for everyone to understand, but they caught on. We all took a moment to agree on a spot, though it was fairly easy. The news building was apn easy target for several reasons: It was obviously public and noticed, it's not like newspaper employees are expecting an attack, and they are the very producers of headlines! Where else could you make a name? Well, prison works, but I’d rather not use my brain power just to engineer a crime heinous enough to try me as an adult. Making a hobby a chore is something strongly against my beliefs, after all.

  
We used the elevator to transport the men. Well, the other males of the group did. The only reason I was allowed to partake in this was because of my leadership shown in the meeting. A part of me suspected Galavan was just nervous to leave me with his dear sister. I never understood quite why men tend to fear youth and extreme intelligence together, but brag of our maturity when questioned about our age. Still, it’s served me enough to help me witness this plan in action.

  
“Ya ready, dollface?” Jerome asked me, holding out his hand for me to use to lift myself from the alleyway’s asphalt.

  
“Always,” I responded with a cheerful grin.

  
Jerome and I did a brisk back and forth glance through the corridor before the whole group crowded the elevator. The air was filled with heavy breaths and shaking with jitters. It felt like concentrated madness. Then, the doors opened and the air was allowed to stabilize. We dispersed and made our way for the roof, where Greenwood was watching our entertainment to make sure no one got in the way before we arrived. I was honestly sad no one tried. Nonetheless, I nodded my head sideways in acceptance and approached one of the bound men. The red paint sprayed out an “M” as my arm moved with grace, no pun intended. Then, I began screeching at him.

  
“On the ledge! Now, big boy! Don't be scared!”  
He did, but not without sobbing and shaking pathetically. It reminded me of Jimmy. At this memory, I shoved him back effortlessly. I could almost feign satisfaction by picturing my twin in his place.

  
“Awww!” I complained, “He’s already dead!”

  
“We got six more!” he encouraged.

  
All of us took our turns painting, but no one dared take over throwing them over. Jerome and I were proud and protective of our jobs in this scheme. All of the men died on impact, not even a twitch. Even the final exclamation mark just fell like a sack of puppies. No matter! Jerome was there, and I was intrigued by him. The more I deduced, the more gleeful I became.

  
First of all, I noticed how chatty he was when it came to females. Cross that, he seemed to always have something to say, especially to women. Specifically, he’s never hostile. Even when I was about to kill him with that chair, he was still pining after me. He stunk of oedipus complex. His own mother never gave him approval, though he was trying, explaining his meticulous grooming and hygiene. Also, there were some tiny, telltale scars on his cheeks to indicate his mother’s disapproval. It was no question why his mother had been murdered.

  
My heart swelled a bit with girly feelings when he hopped off the ledge from admiring our work and asked me, “Ya think we could get Theo to let us have dinner together? Alone?”

  
I giggled, “I’m certain we could convince him.”

  
“Right!” Jerome announced back to the rest of the crew, “Our job here is done!”

  
We all took one last glance over the scene. I hung my head over the ledge for just a little longer so that people could look up and gasped. I sent down a princess-like expression and wave when I noticed some camera flashes going upwards. Jerome tugged me by my black and white skirt to catch up with everyone else at the elevator. I obliged and skipped back to the box. As it lowered, everyone else rushed, but I lingered and meandered. The audience to the show was becoming astounding. Then, I was practically forced into Galavan’s expensive vehicle, driven by Tabitha.

  
“You weren't supposed to show your face yet!” Tabitha scolded.

  
“What’s done is done,” I boldly stated.

  
“Yeah, well you're lucky I need Theo’s permission to do anything to you.”

  
Now, everyone was nervous. Perhaps the tension between the authority and a young girl made them anxious. It’s so funny how people will create a damsel in distress when none exists. Even Jerome, the one I had hoped wouldn't be stupid enough to attach, squeezed my hand protectively.

  
“Worried about something, dear?” I asked.

  
“I just don’t wanna miss you before our first date. I don’t like missing people, not that I know what that’s like. The idea just freaks me out.”

  
I smiled and leaned my head just long enough to appear affectionate before whispering, “Then don’t miss me. I want a partner, not a parasite.”

  
Jerome’s face changed slightly, but noticeably. I snuggled up some more, but he pulled his hand away to minimize contact. It was expected. Who knows how many times Layla had made similar remarks to him, considering he literally fed from her and made her weak, the very definition of a parasite. I knew well that it was cheap, but a little tough love is necessary for a rational relationship. Though, that was one minus of Mr. Valeska; he didn't have a lick of sense in him.

  
As the van came to a stop, each of us took turns stepping onto the pavement. Tabitha appeared offended that I hadn't slowed my pace due to intimidation. Moving on, Galavan sent a look of approval my way as I approached with my hands clasped behind my back.

  
“Th-” Tabitha began before correcting herself to a more formal tone, “Galavan. Grace intentionally showed her face to cameras. She did a princess walk on the way out. Should I even waste my time asking what should happen next?” she demanded.

  
“Yes, Tabitha, actually, you should. I would like to have a talk with Miss Moriarty alone.”

  
“Miss Moriarty…” I repeated in my head, “I like that.”

With that, Galavan took me aside to his office. It was as expected, the only decor being that representative of his accomplishments. The study was fit for a narcissist. He even had an elegant portrait of himself behind the desk. The only objects that didn't somehow root back to him were the black curtains and bookshelves. I wondered how long it would be until even the books on his shelves would be propaganda for his ego.

  
“Have a seat,” Theo instructed, motioning to a black leather chair, surprisingly also entirely unrelated to him.

  
I did. I sat and crossed my legs, elbows parallel in my lap. Our monotone brown eyes maintained contact as he sat on the other side. This man knew how to build suspense as it was a long time before he said anything else.

  
He eventually began our meeting by stating, “I understand you have quite the record for someone not even in their eighteenth year.”

  
“I’m almost there!” I informed him, “However, I have committed quite a few atrocities for a youth. I had assumed you were aware of this when we were chosen.”

  
“Oh, I am,” he continued, revealing my Arkham files, “Apparently, ‘Grace is a textbook psychopath, so far as we can tell. This has to be one of the most severe onset cases, including narcissistic, abusive, and incestuous tendencies. There does seem to be a touch of truth to her egotistical thinking as, despite her remarkably youthful looks, she is far more intelligent than anyone, staff or patient, within Arkham asylum.’” he read from the folder.  
“Sounds about right,” I commented, “though I would say ‘murderous’ over ‘abusive’. I'd give anything to get at that bastard’s throat. Pardon my language.”

  
“No, no!” he dismissed, “I see it more than appropriate. You were betrayed by your own blood! You only did to him what needed to be done, and he ran because he was weak.”

  
I could tell he was lying to me without effort, but I played along, “Indeed. And, the incest was on both sides, consensual. He doesn't believe that.”

  
“Of course not,” Galavan sighed passive-aggressively. “So, what’s your take on our team, here? What do you think we are?”

  
“Honestly,” I started, “I believe Gotham is the Hollywood of crime and we are destined for stardom.”

  
“Interesting,” he narrated,”but you do take this seriously.”

  
“Oh, why of course!” I assured him, “Fame isn't fun. It’s doing whatever is needed and dealing whomever is needed, whatever that may mean: Dead, agreeable, in servitude. It is also following the director’s instructions, but with some personal changes to shock both the audience and the crew themselves. That is the path of infamy.”

  
He seemed pleased with my answer, telling me, “Good! I had hoped you were on the right side of things, not too haughty or submissive. You’re you, and you are far more sophisticated than Ms. Kean.”  
I smirked, knowing this game well. As you’ve seen, mind games are a favorite of mine. So, I played along with his. After doing a curtsy, I asked if he had any more to tell me. Confirming he only intended to assure my loyalty and character qualities, he dismissed me.

  
I used this opportunity to ask him, “Mr. Galavan, you understand Jerome and I are interested in each other?”

  
“Yes, but it looked like he was losing it, by your distance on the way in here,” he explained.  
“However,” I countered, “a date may help that. If you allow it, of course. It is quite difficult to manage five crazies in one place, I understand.”

  
“It is possible, though, Ms. Moriarty. Even if you did count Tabitha with the ‘crazies’, no offense taken, she is quite helpful in that area. How does 11 tonight sound for you two?”

  
“Jerome’s got enough energy, I doubt he will mind. I just hope he won’t run out, towards the end.” Theo raised his brows at this risque statement, so I told him, “Little changes to the polite, innocent script.”  
“Little changes,” he reminded me.

  
I frolicked out of the room and proceeded to seek out Jerome. The decor was much more extravagant outside Galavan’s personal space, a sign of a large ego for a fabricated persona; In other words, an ego that can be easily shattered. Again, gold-framed photos of himself and family members were abundant. There was also a useless decorative table, too cluttered with thriftless trinkets to hold anything of practical value.

  
“So, how painful is it going to be?” Tabitha asked me, toying with her whip.

  
“Oh, not at all!” I chirped, “I’m here to stay.”

  
“What?!” Barbara squacked from behind Tabitha.

“You pull some diva-princess shit like that, and nothing’s gonna happen to you?”

  
I frowned, noticing Barbara was now in much more natural clothes than I and said, “Apparently, I only missed a wardrobe change. It’s like having a finger cut off, honestly.”

  
“You’re lucky you didn't,” Tabitha shot back.

  
Then, Galavan called the pair to have them harass the mayor rather than me. He directed me the opposite way. He stopped me at a bedroom. I noticed the closet immediately.

  
“So, I do get to change!” I enthused.

  
“Yes, but do be ready by a decent time. I have a dinner planned.”

  
I smirked and began flipping through the hanging articles. Dresses were becoming tiring. Although some were fairly pretty, none were good enough to feel any better than the rags I was wearing. I passed every single one. Rather, my eyes latched onto skirts, blouses, jackets, etcetera. At first I tried a pair of tight, silver trousers and a button up with puffed sleeves. Too mature, I looked like a first lady. Then, I tried a flowing skirt with a t-shirt and bracelet. It was nice, rather fifty's. Also, it was rather plain; next! I came across a blouse with a wide neck, lined with black fur. I removed the white t-shirt and replaced it. The new top was paired with the jacket matching the first trousers. I squeaked at myself in the mirror and scrambled to accessorize. White tights and mary janes fit well, I thought, as well as a tiny pearl necklace. Finally I pinned my hair, just in time for Galavan to rap at the door like a raven.  
“Coming!” I sang.

  
We'll skip the blah-blah at the dinner table, as nothing exciting took place. The roast was delicious, as was the wine. In all honesty, I didn't care much for how much I ate at this point. Dinner was the least of my concerns, regarding Jerome. His travelling hand on my thigh indicated that he felt the same. Oh, 11pm would be an exciting hour indeed. Or two. Oh, who knows?!

  
“So, why does it seem like the incest queen is doing more than the two other women,” Barbara focused on me, “who aren't perverts”, and back to Galavan, “one of them being your sister?”

  
Although Galavan gave a forgiving smirk, I could still sense his inner tension with the woman, “Please, do not discuss subjects of that sort during dinner. Thank you,” Barbara rolled her eyes. “To answer your question: Grace here possesses certain qualities which you do not. Tabitha possesses certain qualities which Grace does not. Soon enough your time will come.”

  
Barbara wanted to say something else, but she knew she had received as satisfying an answer as she could get. All she sent my way, at that point, were dirty looks. So, we continued speaking amongst ourselves like normal. Neither Galevan nor Tabitha added to the conversation much. Really, Theo was only a referee. He stopped us when he deemed us impolite and settled our conflict, nothing else.  
Finally, dinner came to a conclusion. Galevan allowed the rest of the Maniax to take their dessert to their rooms, having his sister ensure all of the plates were gathered by the end of the night. Mine and Jerome's cake, however was neatly placed onto a plate at the table. The rose in the center of the white tablecloths added a cheesy touch to the scene, which was fun. Galevan did leave us alone with only one warm light above us.

  
As Jerome poured each of us a glass of wine, I told him, “You do understand that I appreciate your existence? I might say adore it even. What I said before was just fair warning, not a statement of your value.”

  
“I understand, sweet cheeks,” he responded, smirking at my formality. “Don’t sweat it. I can take you pulling at my pigtails. It was just so...unexpected.”

  
“And you like unexpected,” I grinned.

  
“Yeah, I do,” he snipped back, engineering a question in his mind. “So… do you mind if I ask a couple personal questions. Like, really personal. You’re just one of the first people to unsettle me like this in a while.”

  
“Hit me with your best shot,” I sang.

  
“Alrighty then! How exactly is it you just,” he made a generic gesture with his hands, “know everything? Like, the stain and all that.”

  
“Well, that’s not to horrible!” I giggled. “Sort of boring, actually. Anyways, it’s called deduction. Look at the tiny details, little behaviors and outliers, and you get a whole story. You, for example, were truly provoked into your madness. All your scars, their patterns tell me that more than just your mother at five foot six with her build are to blame. Taller men did created some. Thinner people, too. You were just the circus punching bag, weren't you?’

  
“Yeah, I was,” he brushed away the subject quickly, “You really just look at things to figure it out? That's it.”

  
“I doubt you’d enjoy the specifics. They are quite yawn-inducing.”

  
“Probably,” he agreed. “Next question: What the hell did Barbara mean by ‘incest queen’?”

  
I smirked into my mouthful of cake before swallowing, “Precisely as it sounds. I’m not wholeheartedly proud of it, I admit, but there are only so many fish in the sea for us freaks. For a long time, all I had was my twin, Jimmy. Then, after years of providing him with safety, shelter, you know, all the essentials, he stabbed me in the bloody back with a battle ax and shipped me off to Gotham. Right now, he is over in the UK with my fortune. Who knows, though. Maybe he spent it and he’s already back on his knees!”

  
“Ya gotta love twins, huh?” he commented. “I had one; Jeremiah. He was rotten long before I was. He told our whore mother all these stories about how I’d tried to kill him, torture him, ya know. So, he got sent off in the middle of the night and I was a psychopath!”

  
“Dear Lord, is it fate that we met?” I exclaimed, picking up my wine glass “Here’s to bastard brothers bringing people together! May they suffer the irony eternally!”

  
“Agreed. I don’t even know if Jeremiah has a gal right now, let alone a doll like you.”

  
I smiled brightly before taking a long drink. I took in the final bite of my cake and placed my fork neatly down in the middle of the purple plate. I dabbed my face with the napkin to brush the stray crumbs away. That was also folded tidy. Jerome's head cocking told me that the posh behavior I was using intrigued him.

  
“I used to be an assassin,” I informed him. “Not just a killer, sometimes I stole. Occasionally I would do ransom work. It paid very well. It’s not like somebody willing to put themselves in such danger as to hire a hitwoman will be cheap. They do want a job done right, after all. I also began mixing with some high-class crowds, like Fish Mooney and Falcone, those sorts. As a result, I have maintained an image to fit. It still applies here with Galevan.”

  
“An assassin? You got paid to be a psycho?”

  
“Exactly as fun as it sounds,” I responded.

  
“Really?” he drawled, “What’s the best time you've had there?”

  
“Hard to say,” I began, pursing my lips, “There are so many, however I'd have to say it was the Leonard case. Mr. Leonard was disgruntled after his divorce, he received nothing in the end. So, he hired me to make his ex wife and his child suffer for his disgrace. I killed them both slowly with a freshly sharpened knife,” Jerome was visibly excited by my story with a growing smile. “Mr. Leonard regretted hiring me. He tried to refuse to pay me, but he died even slower than the others. The screams that night were the most satisfying in my career.”

  
“God damn,” Jerome sighed, “you really are a rotten little bitch, aren't you?” I popped a smile at him, leaning on my palm with a playful expression. “Look, I know this is our first date and all, but I like ya. I’ve also been alone for more than a while, so-”

  
I jumped across the table to yank Jerome’s face to mine, forcing him over by his collar. The gaze we exchanged after delivered more connection than any of the verbal exchanges we’d had that night. Jerome made his own play for dominance by pulling me into his open mouth. I gladly pushed back by pulling on his ginger locks, some strands breaking loose between my fingers. Before I knew it, I was being picked up in Jerome’s arms and taken to the room Galevan set aside for us.


End file.
